


In the Dark

by TururaJ



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, Post-War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22591618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TururaJ/pseuds/TururaJ
Summary: As such, here is my last will: under no circumstances Head Doctor Slaine Troyard is to be blamed, persecuted or given a death sentence. I demand full freedom and all the civilian rights to be given to the aforementioned person.
Relationships: Kaizuka Inaho/Slaine Troyard
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89





	In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Me before the fic: Heck, yes! We are writing a fic about a crazy house!  
> Me after the fic: Someone mentioned a crazy house? Oops.
> 
> *coughs* Okie, more seriously, this was a random idea as we both, Paper and I, were going home after work and chatting about Inasure. 'Why don't we try writing one-shots that have the same basic setting?' said I, and it all spiralled further from there, encouraged by Inaho's oncoming birthday. Happy birthday, Inaho!  
> So, um, here you have it, two fics with the 'Inasure, a crazy house, Slaine is a doctor' theme. I haven't read Paper's yet, I sure hope they differ.  
> And I sure hope we'll repeat the experience in the future, it was fun! Long live the Aldnoah!

-1

“So this is your ideal on saving people?” his eyes are dark now, his gaze heavy, his hoarse voice controlled and even. With hands bound behind his back, cheek pressed into the dirty stinking floor of the toilet room, a leather boot pushing harshly into his temple, he’s seconds away from death, yet his calm appearance is not broken. Emotions locked away, he’s looking at me with all the force of justice, of freedom, of a power that comes from the utmost depths of earth - an unchangeable will - something that I had lost along the way to where we are now, perhaps, long before his arrival.

I gesture to the soldier to step aside - my hand twitches nervously, a sign of my boiling emotions I cannot hide - and crouch near him. I grip his hair tightly; they are matted, they reek of urine, they are something that yesterday I craved to touch, to put my lips close to, but yesterday is dead, and it’s too late to have regrets. I pull his head up, our gazes clash. He’s stubborn, full of life, despite his hurting body, despite the bruises that bloom on his shoulders and chest, the cuts that go down his strong arms I yielded to only days before. He’s not going down without a fight. I won’t too.

“I’m doing _what I can_ ,” I snarl. I can feel my lip curling upwards in contempt. The disdain is running down my veins, ready to incinerate him. Who is he to judge me? What right does he have to blame me when he knows _nothing_ , nothing at all? I can still remember how cold my feet were as they dragged me here. Me, a mere twenty-years-old. What I had was two years over university books, and scars that my uncle had imprinted on me. I had fear, I felt terror, I saw death and the sheer madness of life. And I survived it. Survived it to do what I can, survived to do the good I always dreamt of. I will not allow him to tear me down; I deserve more than that. “You’ve no right to say anything. What did _you_ do then?”

He takes a pause first, then whispers, “Blindness doesn’t suit you.” It is the first time ever I hear sadness woven into his words, the first time there is some clear emotion, it is the first time his words sound odd. He’s logical to a fault, he never voices silliness. He is a soldier, a high-ranked officer; he never talks in riddles. Does he want to break me? Belittle me? Tell me I’m worthless? Enraged, I let go of his hair and slap him across his cheek. I’m not minding the strength of the blow. It leaves a red mark over his pale skin where I used to kiss him, where I loved to rub my nose against. His head jerks sideways but he’s still watching me. He’s not going to beg for forgiveness or to beg for his life.

Was everything a lie, I want to ask. But there is no time, no opportunity to find an answer.

My heart skips a beat. Here we are at the finish line. And I need to decide again. One life or lives of hundreds? 

“Prepare the backyard. The execution will take place at dawn.”

The only right answer stings something deep.

0

The backyard is a desolate place. Surrounded by the high concrete walls from the two sides and the red-brick wall of the main building, it stretches lengthwise into a dead end. It is a place I hate beyond all others - a symbol of my sins, of my powerlessness and my cowardice. I rarely visit here. I used to at the beginning, but watching the executions were never good for my mental health. So I let soldiers carry on their work as I continued my own. But today is different; I have to be present. I will never forgive myself otherwise.

My feet get drown in the deep snow as soon as I go out of the main building. The storm raged at night, unbidden and wild; it didn’t let me sleep. I spent the short hours, panting from the cold and the inevitable panic that tried to overwhelm me. The sheets still held Inaho’s scent; I begged myself to change the bed but my body wouldn’t move. At some point I gave up and hugged the bloody pillow. The anger from before was long gone and replaced now by despair, by the realization that I was going to lose him. So soon, at the dawn, he would breathe no more. We had only a month - a _month_ \- of what normal people would have for years or decades even. But we were not normal, we were at war. I felt envy: why did I have to be born at a country like this?

I snarl at myself as I turn the corner: enough of useless thoughts, useless memories, useless emotions. They don’t matter, they cannot change past or future, they will only torture me until I go crazy. And won’t that be funny? The head doctor of the crazy house turning crazy? I heard my predecessor ended up like that - he simply couldn’t stand all the shit that happens here. They dragged his unresisting body to the backyard and shot a bullet into his laughing face. No one needs a liability.

The sight of the backyard blinds me: black and white divided into even parts with only a grey sky as a reminder that we’re still on Earth. The soldiers are clad in black, I’m too. Inaho is in a white hospital robe, barefoot, only his dark hair denies the image of the angelic innocence he represents in my mind. My teeth chatter: he stands there near the wall, hunched, tired, beaten, but waiting for the end quietly (I have seen people struggle, I have seen them beg and cry and rampage), and it speaks of his dignity. He is the man I fell in love with, undoubtedly. He glances my way only once, without malice or resentment, and I can see his lips moving, ‘Do not look.’

I want to tell him that there is no need to take pity on me for I do not deserve any type of kindness. I am guilty of everything he blamed me yesterday, and I will continue to be. For the sake of saving people I can save, as simple as that. I will fall down on my knees in front of the Vers Upper Echelon and lick their feet. I will command traitors like Kaizuka Inaho to be executed. I will forsake my humanity in deeds that have to be done. It is the role they gave me when they brought me here by force, and I accepted it. And I made the best of it by forsaking myself. I have no regrets.

But it hurts. It hurts as soldiers lead him to the farthest wall, as he stumbles, his feet already seeming blue. When they reach the end, they make him turn around to face the soon death. Why, why do they do it every time? Isn’t it simpler to send the bullet when you can’t see the person’s eyes? Inaho straightens his back. He is merciful; he isn’t looking at me. He watches the guns, and how the senior officer checks the time on his wristwatch. I count in my head. Two minutes.

My traitorous hands are trembling. I hide them in the pockets of my winter coat, suddenly attacked by the swarm of ‘what if’s. What if I let him live, what if I tried to hide him from the higher-ups? How many days we’d have? How many days I’d have if I helped him escape? How many people - _children_ \- they’d allow to live after they knew of my betrayal? I’ve heard Vers is quick to burn the facilities which show even the slightest resistance. How many innocents would have died because of my silly desire for love? No, an impossible choice. I’m a doctor, and my patients will always come first.

One minute.

I want to scream, I want to whisper to him about my true feelings but he’s not looking at me. He’s not looking at me, my Inaho. My whole body remembers you, your touch, your gentleness as you allowed me to feel loved for the first time in my life. Inaho. I will die with you here, I will never let anyone else inside my soul or my body. I belong to you. I want to howl your name until my throat is raw and dead. But I cannot. I cannot, Inaho. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry we met during the war, in this place with no hope and no future. I’m sorry I have to choose others over your wellbeing. I will end up in hell, surely.

Ten seconds. I hear as soldiers raise their guns. I am not dreaming, am I? Please, God, I want so much to wake up. I don’t want to be here. Take me back to where we never met. Let him live, let him be safe and happy. What do I have to give away for that? Take it, take it!

But I cannot stop time. It always moves forward-forward-forward. Without breaks. I breathe in the air.

The shots are done simultaneously, loud and swift. Inaho falls, sliding against the wall to his side. There’s only a barely heard rustle of his hospital robe; everything else gets devoured by the bedding of the white snow. I no longer feel any pain. Nothing changes for me: the icy wind burns my face, my heart beats strongly, time does not still.

Time doesn’t still. There are sounds of countless footsteps, of shooting from afar, and then a man’s voice suddenly shouts as the soldiers in front of me feverishly try to load their empty guns, “Everyone face down or we will shoot! UFE declares ownership of the territory! Vers rule is no more!”

Someone pushes me in the back, and I end up on the earth, mouth full of the achingly cold snow. I refuse to think.

No, it cannot be. It simply cannot be. No. No.

No.

+1

I spend time in one of the closed rooms where I usually order to lock the most aggressive patients. It is a familiar place but the feeling of being locked up is new. I’m sure I wouldn’t have liked it if this morning had never happened but now I don’t care. They can shoot me, take me apart, tear me, break my bones, they can leave me here to die from hunger - I’ll only welcome it. I lie down on the metal cot, feeling empty, and pull at the straps that are used to hold the patients who are in a fit time and time again. I laugh, choking on the sounds my throat produces, and then I’m silent once more.

The thought that everything is almost over calms me down. I am not a military officer, but I’m a Vers doctor who followed orders and helped the Vers army. People like me don’t have a future after they get into the UFE clutches. I will soon join Inaho; most possibly my life will cease at exactly the same place. I find peace in that thought. It is what I deserve if not more.

Hours later they drag me to my own cabinet. It is a nice place at the third floor of the hospital, a room where together with Inaho we shared our first kiss. I was furious he wasn’t taking his pills, I wanted him to get well, not yet knowing his stay at the hospital was only a charade. I had argued with him - a _patient_ \- like a child, anxious and angry to get results, not realizing why my own behavior was so out of doctor league. He simply stared at me and then made two steps forward, held my shoulders and shut me up with a kiss. In sheer seconds my knees went weak, I slid down to the floor, my back pressed against my own wooden desk, and he continued to kiss me there as he followed me down. We spent an hour in my cabinet, silently kissing, pausing only to look at each other. I was shocked but I couldn’t stop the insanity, I leaned into his touch voluntary, and he kissed my lips, my cheeks, my chin, and I wanted to cry, because it was warm and tender and something sacred, something that I never had in my life.

The cabinet looks lifeless now. My papers are scattered everywhere, torn, stepped over. There is a distinct smell of tobacco; a lot of officers must have sat here in the past hours, discussing what to do with the hospital. For a second I’m worried about the patients, but I know the UFE doesn’t treat civilians bad. Most of them will probably stay here, under the watchful eyes of the new crew. They might dispose of the patients who have no hope of getting better, but I can accept that. I was pressured often for doing it too, and it took a lot of maneuvering and slyness on my part to evade or postpone the orders. War spares no one; it’s a rule.

One of the soldiers puts a stool in front of my desk, and the next moment his colleague pushes me down on it. My shoulders are bruised; I hold back a wince and stare forward - at a man who holds my place now. He’s not young, his hair is grey already, but the blue uniform embraces his lean body so perfectly it instantly makes me feel respect. Whoever he is, he’s a high-rank (I see the straps on his coat, but I’m bad at discerning the UFE ranks). For a long time he regards me silently through the lenses of his glasses as if I’m some kind of an extraordinary small animal and he doesn’t know what to do with me. I get tired of his long stare - in front of my eyes Inaho is still lying motionless in the snow - so I say, “The backyard can be used as the execution ground. There are no windows and civilians won’t see a thing.”

It takes the man ten seconds to answer. I can see his lips moving, the beginnings of the words he doesn’t voice, words I will never know, before he answers, curiosity etched into his tone, “I’m afraid we cannot do that.”

Then he pushes the paper sheet towards me over the table, unhurriedly, and I frown, lowering my eyes to read what’s written there:

_Last decoded message from L. Kaizuka Inaho, sent on February, 5:_  
_‘Mission is nearing the end. All the route and guarding information is attached to the following file. Password is ver. 3._  
_Personal note to G. Hakkinen: I have reasons to suspect my disguise will be discovered before the planned day. As such, here is my last will: under no circumstances Head Doctor Slaine Troyard is to be blamed, persecuted or given a death sentence. I demand full freedom and all the civilian rights to be given to the aforementioned person.’_

Air gets stuck in my throat. I bend over, crumpling the printed list in my hand. Soldiers behind my back growl at me to sit straight, but through the fog of my panic I can hear how Hakkinen - that must be him, the General, addressed in the note - sends them away. I just need a minute to breathe. To realize. To accept this piece of himself Inaho had left behind. For me? Yesterday, when he confronted me, when he showed me the papers he stole from the military I had thought… I had pitifully thought that our wonderful month was a lie. That he had used me to find what he needed, to make his mission a success. I was angry and mortified; I didn’t give him time to explain himself, I didn’t stop to think why he told me the truth. I had to act if I wanted Vers to spare the hospital.

I had cornered him to the toilet, pretending I needed to wash my face because of the sudden dangerous talk, and on the way there I gave a special signal to the soldier on his usual post. I watched as Inaho got beaten and bruised and cut, I watched as they made him gulp the urine from the toilet bowl until he admitted he was a spy (he looked at me when he croaked that, like he wanted to release me from watching him suffer). I destroyed my own happiness on February, 6. The day _after_ this message is dated.

He knew I would betray him? He told me the truth while knowing I wouldn’t accept it? He asked for my life in spite of suspecting I would bring him death? He hid the facts from the General in order to save me? I gulp down the short nervous laugh. No one would have discovered his cover, he was too damn perfect. If only he had stayed silent about his mission I’d have never guessed. His death is my fault. If I had given him a day or two, if I had stopped to think, if I had trusted him…

“In the long ten years of working under me, this is a first time Kaizuka Inaho had asked me for anything at all,” Hakkinen says. His calm gaze is continuing to dissect me but I’m too far gone to feel anxiety. He probably wants answers, wants to solve this peculiar riddle of why Inaho would vouch for me. But it is a riddle of the past because Inaho is not here, and it’s not my place to be generous. I’m going to let this riddle live forever. A little piece of us that will live on in the memory of someone else.

“I want to die,” I tell the General, letting go of the crumpled paper list. It lands on the floor, near my feet. I did the same thing with my love: smashed it, threw it away, treated it like shit. I am forever guilty. Inaho, I’m so sorry you met me. 

“Hmm.” Hakkinen sits back, rests his elbows on the arms of his chair - _my_ chair. He looks more righteous than I ever did while sitting on it. I hide my eyes again, exhausted and shaking. My only desire is for everything to end. The man keeps silent too, stalls for time until a soldier knocks on the door and gives him a stack of papers, then whispers something to his ear. I do not listen to their conversation; I only want my fate decided right here and now. Finally, Hakkinen says, unfortunately, not to me, “Are you sure?”

And the soldier replies, very uncertain, “There is a chance.” And then we are left alone again.

“Slaine Troyard.” I raise my head to the sounds of my name, ready to receive the final judgement. “I am going to honor Kaizuka Inaho’s last wish. You will soon get the new documents and become the UFE citizen. Afterwards you will be deported to the mainland, and my orders are for you to stay on Kaizuka’s personal property until further notice. To get by you will also receive the right to use all of Kaizuka’s money accumulated on his military bank account.”

“What…?”I whisper as the words are digested by my mind. My whole body is suddenly bursting with agonizing pain. Nothing is right. It shouldn’t be like this. I do not deserve this. I should be outside, in the snow, lying together with Inaho’s broken body. I stand up so abruptly the chair behind me falls; my fists land on the desk and I shout to the man’s indifferent face, “But I don’t want to… _I don’t want to live_!”

Hakkinen lowers his glasses and looks at me eye-to-eye. “After your deportation you are free to do with your life as you please. If you choose death no one will be able to stop you. But in case you decide to grace the Earth with living on, do bear in mind that you should follow the UFE laws and become a decent citizen.”

I drop to the floor - a heap of tired bones - my head too dizzy, limbs too weak to keep me standing. I am broken beyond repair.

Is this my punishment, Inaho? I ask and ask and ask, but he’s not here to answer me.

+2

Life is never fair. I had learnt that since early childhood after my father had escaped Vers to avoid serving in the army. My mother followed him fearlessly, leaving me behind without an ounce of a doubt. My family disappeared overnight; my uncle was forced to take me in. In contrast to my parents he was a man of war, loyal to the country through and through, but his loyalty had tricked him. He had lost his leg in a fight, was discharged and sent home where he started drinking from frustration. He took pride in his growing children, and all the hate and despair and dissatisfaction he took out on me. I was the son of cowards, and I deserved to be disciplined, as he used to say.

The day I left for the medical university was the best day of my life. No more unfair beatings, no more talks of army - as a future doctor I would have been free from serving until I completed my education. Doctors were few, and doctors were always needed. I didn’t fear serving but I wanted to treat people, I wanted to do good, to be the best; I needed proper knowledge. Two years flew by, two years spent with books, two years of hesitation of which medicine direction I was going to take, two years of fearful gossips of the war getting closer, getting more sever. All of us, students, had expected the bad news every day. But we didn’t expect the way it all blew up one day.

The Emperor and his family were killed by our own army, and the Vers military took over. Most of the civilians were declared enemies of the state unless they served or worked directly for the army. They came for us, mere students, during the night. They stripped us bare, shaved our heads, pushed us to the vans, divided us. They took us to different locations, breaking our friendship bonds, preventing any chances of conspiring. They had disposed of the previous heads of hospitals, left only few of the staff, to assure total control. We, students, were young and inexperienced and scared, we didn’t understand a shit and became the perfect puppets.

In the end I never had a chance to choose what kind of doctor I’d become. As they led me towards the hospital over the white cover of snow, as I saw the three-floor brick building which was destined to be my home for forever, I felt the responsibility weighing upon my shoulders. It was a mental hospital, a place where for someone - the majority of them - there was no cure in wait. I was young but I wasn’t a fool. The military was pushing for control, for efficiency, for economy; unless I produced results most of patients were going to be disposed of. I took a long breath before stepping to the central entrance, and then - I accepted my new world.

I made mistakes and I failed a lot. I acted like I knew what I was doing whereas I didn’t know a shit. Learning what pills to prescribe or what shots to make for the aggressive patients was the easiest part of the inexistent curriculum. Those workers from the previous crew had tried to help, they did, but they weren’t doctors, and day by day went by with me trying not to succumb to the madness I wasn’t prepared for. There were people who had anxiety and panic attacks and insomnia, people who needed support and counseling, but those were light cases. Suddenly I had to manage people who referred to themselves as Emperors and gnomes, who had an urge to kill and hurt, who talked with walls and saw colorful insects crawling up the ceiling. There were people who refused to talk or eat at all, autistic children, people with different personalities, people who wanted to jump out the windows or who drank their own urine. Sometimes I’d lock myself in my room and simply lie on the floor, tired of protecting those who didn’t wish for my protection, who hated or tried to attack me. There were too many of them, and I was only twenty, twenty years old.

It is why, perhaps, when Inaho had arrived at the hospital - though years later - under the disguise of an officer needing a break and some counseling I had fallen in love with him. He was the only one who truly saw me - or _chose_ to see me - and suddenly I was human again, a human who needed attention and care, and he gave it to me despite that it was me who was supposed to care for him. And for a short time, an impossibly short time, I had forgotten that life wasn’t fair.

The train is almost empty; the view behind the window is the same it has been for the last hour: the endless field of sunflowers stretches far to the horizon. The world here is not tainted by the war and watching it feels surreal. Being alive and free feels surreal. It was something I dreamt of in the deepest hours of the night when I allowed myself a bit of self-pity. But now the dream is tarnished, and the void grows inside me with every day. I do not need this freedom without Inaho. I do not need anything. Why did he have to save me?

I look at my wrist watch; it shows me the middle of the day, two more hours before I arrive to the village. I never knew Inaho lived in a village; he had told me stories accordant to his cover, and now I can only guess what parts of them were true. The sky is annoyingly blue; people on the other side of the railcar are smiling and chatting excitedly. They say the war is nearing its end; the UFE is close to overturning the Vers military. And, at least, I know that to be true, because if they had raided my hospital that means they are already close to the capital, already deep into the Vers territory. For a second it makes me glad: when the war ends there will be fewer tragedies like mine and Inaho’s.

When I step out of the train on the old and worn concrete platform I feel like I’m at the other end of the world. No one is around: there are no buildings or checkouts or any passengers waiting for their ride. I’m alone here, amidst the green untended field, with only a small barely visible path running away to the horizon. The directions Hakkinen left to me tell me to follow it. I lift my small luggage - they had allowed me to take the minimum of my personal possessions - and move forward, into the unknown.

It takes me two hours to reach the village; it’s hidden deep behind the field, behind the small grove of birch and aspen trees. The old wooden houses stand far away from each other, surrounded by fences or flowers or apple trees. People are out and about, talking or working in their gardens, looking after their children. I can hear dogs barking and the kids’ loud laughter. It is like a place from a fairy tale; it makes me want to cry but I grit my teeth and step further.

At first people are wary of me but as they hear Inaho’s name, as I ask where his home is, they get friendlier.

“Oh, Kaizukas, yes-yes,” the old woman smiles, “The boy’s gone to war long ago, didn’t he? After his sister died. A good little family they were! Nice, kind people. Ah, so-so sad. Why do you need his house, dear?”

A believable story is hard to come up with, but I’ve got the UFE papers backing me up so I lie I’m his fellow soldier, a military doctor, and that I’ve finished my service because of issues with my health. And that because of war I’ve got no home to go back to and Inaho was kind enough to offer his place. The lie slips so easily off my lips I want so much to believe it is true. But it isn’t. Nothing will erase the day he died because of my cowardice, my blindness, my wounded pride. I do not deserve to be here, shamelessly playing his friend.

People trust me readily. I lower my head, feeling guilty, as one of the elderly villagers leads the way. He chats and tells me about the village, its shops and where I can get various help if there is a need. He doesn’t go with me the full way and when we stop near the path, running up a nearby hill, he points his hand to a two-story wooden house and wishes me luck with getting the house clean. I thank him, and soon I’m left alone again. At the sight of my journey’s end my legs suddenly become full of lead. I’m filled with awful trepidation as I cross the last meters, step up the brick porch and find keys in my luggage. I drop the keys once; my hands tremble.

The door creaks open. I enter the dark hall and leave my things on the floor. The smell of dust is strong; I should open windows before I begin to explore the house. Inaho’s face meets me inside the living room: the photographs of him and a girl I do not know - his sister? - are arranged neatly around the spacious room. I grab the closest photo and sink to the floor, my heart beating painfully. The only photo of Inaho I had was the tiny square paper in his medical file; there was no way I could ask the UFE General to get it for me, the mere idea sounds stupid even now. Until now I had nothing of Inaho left but my memories.

On the photo he looks young: eighteen, probably, not yet mangled by the army. He’s short; shoulders aren’t as wide as I remember them; hair is in more disarray. He’s smiling a small content smile towards the camera; he never smiled to me. I’m swarmed by envy and then again - by the bitterness of the past I cannot change. Being here, in Inaho’s home, is worse than torture or a death sentence. This house keeps all what is left of him; I won’t find only photos. There should be his things, clothes, books maybe, notes.

I end up on the dusty floor, holding the photograph close to my chest, keeping my hand over my mouth as the sobs tear me apart. I want to shout at the sun that peeks into the open window and scatters the golden sunrays all over the room to disappear the fuck away but of course it’s deaf to my fury. The world goes on as it always does, blind to my pain. 

I’m in hell.

+3

_“Just a bit longer, Slaine,” he whispers as he kisses my chin. Bedsheets are rustling as he moves away after saying those puzzling words. I do not follow him, too tired and sleepy from yesterday. I’m happy, I’m safe, I’ll ask him later._

The dream is too vivid. I open my eyes. No, not a dream. A memory. One of our meetings when he’d stay with me until dawn and we’d kiss until there was no air. I’d let him take my clothes off and take care of me. He’d ask me if I’m sure, if maybe I’d prefer to take control because I should know he wants that as much as he wants me every day, every hour and minute. I’d blush, irritated at my own shyness and inexperience, and smack him in the shoulder. I’d have a night of miracles, of warmth and love.

I growl as I get up from the bed. Some days start good, some days just don’t. It’s been almost a year since I arrived here, at Inaho’s home, but the pain isn’t lessening. True, it was harder in the beginning: with all his things lying around I had to tend to the house, clean the rooms and make small repairs. At times I cried lots; the feeling of helplessness was my only companion. But I’ve been fighting it, I’m still fighting it. The strategy is easy: I prefer to busy myself, I also don’t think much about the past, and any pathos thought about Inaho saving me are a taboo, any kind of sad music is a taboo too. Thanks to those simple rules some days now start fine.

Not today. I cannot taboo dreams. At least I’ve to thank my brain it’s not a nightmare this time. I climb down the stairs to the kitchen and prepare myself tea. June is not as warm as I’d prefer it to be after a long and lonely winter. The villagers are nice people: they invite me to dinners and picnics, they talk to me often, they’re not afraid to trust their children to me if they need to leave the village on business, and I’m only glad to help in any way I can. But when I go back home I’m still alone, and it is always going to be like this. After days and days of anguish I’ve decided this is my atonement. I have destroyed the only hope for happiness with my own hands.

It’s early; the violet sky stretches over the green field, and I put on jeans and Inaho’s old and grey sweater (it was very tight when I put it on for the first time but I’ve stretched it since by wearing it a lot of times). I’ve come to love the abundance of summer colors: these days I always get up early and go outside to walk through the sea of grass, undisturbed by anything or anyone. Out of habit I check the UFE phone the General had left to me for ‘further notices’ but there are no new messages. There haven’t been for a year, after I’ve sent the report that I had arrived here and got a simple ‘confirmed’ in response.

The walks make me forget, calm me down. I carry my tea cup as I drift slowly among the tall grass stems and stop to watch the sky or the bindweed flowers hiding in the grass. The sweet tea warms me up; the wind caresses slightly my unkempt hair; the air is fresh and has a scent of an unreachable freedom. I close my eyes, absorbing the beautiful morning into my hollow chest. I miss you, Inaho. I’ve got so many things to tell you, to ask you, so many unspent hugs to give you. But I know if I beg you to appear - right here and now - when I open my eyes the horizon will stay empty.

The wind is getting stronger; it might rain soon. The grass bends, leans to earth; I can hear it whispering the secrets I will never decipher. I blink to focus my sleepy eyes and turn around to head for home, determined to start the day before sorrow assaults me fully. I manage several steps, and then the world crashes on me.

From where the hill hides the sight of the village a person is approaching me.

It is Inaho.

Impossible.

I’m still sleeping?

He’s slow, he limps; the short climb must have been hard on him. He’s looking at me. He has an eye-patch instead of his left eye, a small bag behind his shoulder. He’s dressed in the blue UFE uniform I’ve never seen on him. It suits him better then Vers one ever did, but he seems very thin.

No. What? What is going on?

My hands twitch; I let go of my tea cup. It lands somewhere at my feet, spilling tea on the white flowers. I do not care.

He’s almost near me. Solid and real, pale and breathing through his lips as if he’s run a marathon. He stops in front of me, silent. His free hand reaches out to touch me. There’s pulse under his skin.

The strength leaves my body, my knees give out, and in an instant the world is painted black.

…

“-aine, Slaine. Please, wake up. I don’t have strength to carry you.”

It’s his voice. I breathe in and greedily gulp the air. My head is heavy; I can barely control my limbs. Did I fall unconscious? Such a thing never happened to me even when my uncle used the whip to discipline me.

“I died?” I slur the words and try to open my eyes. The vertigo is harsh but I can see Inaho’s face. We’re sitting out in the field, surrounded by the tall grass, my head is resting on his knees, and he combs my hair.

“No,” Inaho explains patiently. “It’s me who is alive.”

“It cannot be. I killed you; you were shot. You are an illusion,” I nod to myself. “I see. I have finally gone mad from grief.”

It’s the only logical reason for him to be here. He stares at me, his usual face carries no emotions, but the line of his lips gets a bit tighter. I learned to read him a bit back when we had our treasured month. He’s frowning - in his own way. After a minute or two he suddenly pulls me up, to his chest, and kisses me on the lips - insistently but without fire.

I choke. It feels too real. His warmth, his scent, the way he tilts his head before the kiss. It’s him. It’s him. It’s my Inaho.

“I don’t want to wake up,” I sob.

He presses his forehead to my cheek and whispers, urgently but firmly, while one of his hands continues to caress my hair and the other supports my back, holding me close, “Listen to me. I did not die. I was close to, but I didn’t. One bullet destroyed my eye; miraculously, the brain wasn’t harmed. The other one hurt my knee, and the limp will never go away. The rest missed any vital points as well. I lost a lot of blood and spent a year on a hospital bed. They wouldn’t let me get to you sooner. When I could finally write and wanted to send you a letter, General Hakkinen forbade me to do it. He said you’re being watched and going through the evaluation period. But now it’s over, Slaine. We can be together.” 

No. Even if all of what he says is true - no, we cannot.

I stop the useless tears and allow myself a moment of weakness. I kiss his forehead, touch his shoulder, then draw back my hand as if it was burned. Disentangling myself from his embrace is the hardest thing to do but he lets me go. I glance at him for the last time, feeling ache deep within my belly: this close I can see how exhausted and wounded he looks, how broken and scarred. And it’s my fault. All of it is my fault.

“Slaine? Slaine, no!”

I run away. He won’t be able to follow me if he’s honest about his leg.

“Slaine!”

The field is endless, and I do not stop.

+4

I spend the day walking wherever my legs are taking me and lying in the grass when I feel like I’ll die from more walking. Thankfully, there’s no rain, but the chill is constant. My teeth chatter, both from cold and the stress. I try not to think. Inaho is alive: that’s all that matters. He can work on his health, recuperate further, find a loved one and start a family. He can leave war and my betrayal behind. One day he can be happy.

It is better if I disappear, if I contact Hakkinen and ask for some other place to stay. I can work as a doctor and earn my pay. I can get by as long as I know that Inaho is fine. He deserves someone better. I’m a leech; I should be smashed like an ugly warm. I cannot desecrate him anymore.

The sky darkens. My empty stomach hurts. I find a lone tree and sit under it, pulling the grey sweater tighter on my body. The nights are cold, and I’m shivering; the chill is getting to my bones, envelops me in a piercing cocoon. Faraway across the field a small orange ball of light flares up: Inaho must have switched on the lights on the second floor. I curse at myself and hide my head under my folded arms. Have I turned back accidently while I wandered through the field with no direction in mind? The distance I’ve covered should be longer.

Minutes pass away. The light is living on, taunting me, calling for me. Darkness solidifies; the wind whips me with the first drops of rain. Soon it is raining, and the tree cannot save me from the downpour. I get so wet I feel like I’ve just swam in a river. I hope for the rain to stop but it laughs at me, only getting stronger and stronger. I guess I can find the way back to the village and ask for help there, but it’s already too deep into the night, and it may arouse too many questions.

Another hour of fierce shivering forces me to get up; it wouldn’t be good to die while Inaho is so close. I have caused him too many problems already. I should stop acting like a scared child; I can just go back and collect my few things, call Hakkinen or borrow money from Inaho until I find a place to stay. We are adults; we can talk like adults. I will manage. I take deep breaths and move through the veil of rain towards the house I’ve learned to call home during the last year.

I meet Inaho sitting on the porch, behind him the front door is open wide, as if all this time he has been waiting for me to come back. I stop at the line where orange light combats the darkness and forget all the words I planned to say. He rushes to stand up and cross the distance between us - like a thirsty man who suddenly sees an oasis of water. There are no words to describe the look on his face: perhaps, I had looked very similar the day he was shot.

He stumbles - moves too fast for his injured leg - but the next moment I find myself in his tight embrace. He’s holding onto my back like he cannot continue to walk this earth without our contact. He’s leaning his head on my shoulder, and I can’t fight the desire to run my wet and trembling fingers through his hair. His hair is cut messily; the length is longer to what I’m used to, but I like it. I love it. I love all parts of him.

“I shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve you,” I croak as my limbs betray me and return his embrace. “Let me get my phone. I’ll call Hakkinen and arrange something.”

“I forbid you to run away,” he answers angrily, but doesn’t move an inch, only tightens his hold. “You’re mine. Mine.”

“Why would you need me, a pitiful semblance of a human being, Inaho?” I ask him sadly. He’s getting soaked; we should probably go inside. I’m sure I’ll succumb to flu after today, and I don’t want him to fall ill because of me.

He doesn’t answer, but the force of his hold tells volumes. I try to make a step towards the house and he lets me lead us up the porch. I barely manage to close the door so that the cold wind won’t reach us. Streams of water end up flowing on the floor; I want to take my ruined clothes off, but Inaho clings to me like a child or a starved insect. I’m exhausted, I cannot stand anymore, and I know I hurt him again. I’m not sure whether I want to scream in despair or just drop dead on the spot.

He decides for us both. I lean on the wall as he divests us both of clothes and limps into the bathroom, holding my hand. We’re naked; I can see all of his new scars, his sewed eye and how really thin he is. A year must not have been enough for a full rehabilitation. Had he hurried to leave the hospital to see me? Grabbed the first chance as my evaluation period was over? We sit in the bath and I press myself into him - skin to skin - as it fills with hot water. Perhaps, shower would be better but none of us have any strength left to stand.

We sit in the bath silently until water starts to cool down. Getting to the bedroom is a real ordeal but at least I’m happy to find the bed done.

I feel strange as Inaho climbs under the blanket behind me and attaches himself to my back. The day seems too long and impossible.

He holds me; I fall asleep.

+5

I have temperature in the morning but I throw on the first garments I find in the wardrobe and run down the stairs like crazy. Patients back at hospital used to do that a lot. My heart beats somewhere in my throat; fear is strangling me. I woke up alone. Was yesterday a lie?

The sounds coming from the kitchen sober me up. No, no, he’s here. I can smell the breakfast: bacon and eggs. He did it for me once, back at the hospital. We had a small kitchen there for patients who wished to cook; it wasn’t used much, but he went there and prepared food for me when I missed dinner and looked like I’d fall down from overwork.

He’s dressed into soft homey pants and has a white turtleneck on; the eye-patch is back, hiding his missing eye. I keep my hands to myself and sit down wordlessly. I’m dizzy and feel heavy, but when he moves the plate to me over the table surface I accept it and try to eat. He waits out until I finish a part of it, then makes me tea in the same unhurried way. Finally, he sits down too, and as he moves his hand across the table I meet him halfway, letting our fingers unite.

“Slaine, I want to do the talk right now. And I do not wish to return to it. I want you to try and accept what I say,” he says decisively, looking me straight in the eyes. “I do not blame you. You were under pressure and you did all you could to save your people. I was never an innocent as well; I was a soldier and a spy for a long time. I know how war works. I never expected you to stay loyal to me in case you found out. You should understand I was lying to you too about a lot of things. Although not about my feelings; they _were_ \- and _are_ \- true. I fell in love with you. And I love you, and I will love you no matter what you decide to do with your life from now on. I would like you to stay with me - more than anything - but you should have the choices you never had. You are free to do anything you want.”

“ _I_ blame _myself_ , Inaho!” I bite my lips, cling to his hand. Tea stands forgotten. His words are touching something deep inside me. How can he love me after everything? “Why did you have to tell me you’re a spy? Wasn’t it safer for you to tell me later?”

Inaho takes a pause. I can see how hard it gets for him to talk.

“You must know by now that I had a sister.” Suddenly he tries to move his hand away; I do not let him. His shoulders sag and he closes his eye, surrounding to my hold. I’m puzzled so I listen on. “I wanted to go into the military immediately after my eighteenth birthday. The village life was fine, but I wanted to earn money, and being a contract soldier was the most efficient way. I’d have to do service sooner or later all the same so it was better to combine the two goals. My sister was against it; she wanted me to study first. I had good grades for physics and engineering; I could get into a university, to a military faculty, and after finishing I would be free to spend my serving time as a military technician, away from the starting war.”

He takes a breath before going on. “But I was young and stubborn. I applied to the army, went through the medical checkup secretly from Yuki. It was two months before I’d become eighteen, and she, as my legal guardian, could easily ask for the application to be nullified. My sister had this bad habit of walking into my room when I wasn’t there, and I was too careless: I left a copy of the application inside my physics book. Yuki got interested in what I was studying and saw the document. She was furious.”

Inaho slides his other hand over the table and grabs mine. He’s shivering, just a bit. “It was winter. She called a taxi; there’s a highway and a bus stop across the field. She wanted to go immediately to take the application back. The weather was bad. They said later the taxi broke down: both she and the taxi driver died instantly,” for a short moment Inaho’s voice cracks with emotion. “My dishonesty murdered my sister. If I’d told her the truth from the beginning we’d argue a lot, perhaps, but there would be no need for her to rush away from home.”

I squeeze his hands in a silent support and a minute later he looks at me, composed again. “It hurt to lie to you, every day. I’ve learned my lesson. When I knew the mission would end in success either way I decided to tell you. You were the only person who truly mattered in a long time. I wanted you to know the truth of who I am. I wanted you to understand before you’d scream at me I’m a liar.”

I pull up one of his hand to my lips and kiss his fingers feverishly. “Idiot, you are a silly idiot. Just to be honest with me? Just for that small reason? Oh, Inaho… And you’re telling me not to blame myself?” The misery is poisoning my veins. I cover the back of my head with his palms and rest my burning forehead against the table: its surface is pleasantly cool. Inaho starts caressing my hair.

“You made the only right choice the war dictated, Slaine,” Inaho repeats firmly. “It was me who acted illogically, on emotions rather than my brain. But I do not regret it. In the end you’re alive and here with me.”

I stay speechless for a long time, listening to the rain outside. It has not lessened during the night. The world is being cleansed by the falling heavens. A strange sense of calmness swells within me as the pause grows. I sit back on the stool, then stand up and approach Inaho. My knees touch the floor; I lower my chin to his knee, let my hands rest on his legs and then I stare at him. The words that leave my mouth are the only right choice I can make now, “Tell me what you want, Inaho. I’ll give you anything if it’s in my power. Tell me.”

The worry leaves the line of his shoulders; he brings one hand up to caress my cheek softly. He tells me.

“I want you to stay by my side and be happy. I want you to become a proper doctor or choose any other profession you like. I want us to have a cat or a dog and live our lives in this house. And in a few years’ time I want us to try for a child adoption. I want to care for you when you’re sick and I want you to be there when I’m old and delirious. I want you, Slaine. All of you.” 

I see. So sometimes it takes only one person to open up a thousand paths for you even if you’re lost in the dark.

I press my lips into Inaho’s knee and whisper, “Yes. I want that too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: [Survive Said The Prophet - MUKANJYO (Vinland Saga op 1)](https://youtu.be/5DjFpPSuGR0)


End file.
